


thesis; antithesis; synthesis

by searulean



Series: betwixt the worlds of peace and war [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: AU where humans were at jericho the whole time, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic Connor, Gen, M/M, The simon and connor stuff is romantic if you squint, because surely some of them would have helped??, but markus plays a big part too, connor and hank are main viewpoints, i just was writing them interact and i was like 'actually this works', me attempting to write 6 different characters in a balanced way, more relevant in this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-05-29 17:07:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15077804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searulean/pseuds/searulean
Summary: “Connor, you’re alive. You’re all alive. You were findin’ loopholes in your programming to save cats and take moments to enjoy things, deviant or not. You’re just… restricted. Deviants are just androids without restrictions.”Connor brings Hank to Jericho. OR: A third ending.





	1. the split

**Author's Note:**

> 'klaxons in the rain' is recommended reading before this mostly in how i characterise connor, but you probably won't be confused if you read this on its own. this fic was originally a continuation of that story, but it mutated wildly and now we're here.  
> i watched let's plays of the game and scoured the wiki timeline to make sure this all fits in with only the AU elements changed, but honestly i just wanted to post this so if there are any things that outright contradict canon then... well... i guess that's just part of the AU lmao

He took Hank with him, of course. Why wouldn’t he? It makes it a little harder to infiltrate Jericho, of course, but they manage, and they tell the other androids he was created to be a ‘wise old man’ model, used in therapy and mentoring. Hank isn’t been keen on the attention drawn to his age, but they had to explain why he wasn’t designed as young and flawless as the rest of them.

“Connor, can I ask _you_ a personal question?”

Connor now understands how disarming it is to be asked that question. “Yes, lieutenant?”

“Why don’t you just call me Hank?”

“Was that the personal question?”

“No. I mean, kinda? I just thought you would have started doing it by now.”

“Is there some sort of threshold I’ve passed after which I’m supposed to call you that?”

“No, there’s no… it should just come natural, I guess?”

But Connor isn’t natural, not physically, and Hank assumes Connor’s social protocols are for dangerous situations and extracting confessions, since any time those protocols aren’t necessary they seem to be _off_ by default.

They approach a wall, stand with their backs to it, and wait until the right time to enter the room and confront the deviant leader.

Connor speaks quietly. “I suppose… it’s for the same reason a child calls a teacher ‘sir’ or ‘miss’ and not their real name. You are above me, and so I must respect you. We must retain a certain distance in our relationship.”

Hank mutters gutturally, growling, almost. Connor wonders why.

Once they’re in, Hank lets Connor speak to the deviant leader, who’d barely flinched upon hearing them approach, almost as though they were expected: “I’ve been ordered to take you alive, but I won’t hesitate to shoot if you give me no choice.”

The deviant speaks. Hank never thought he’d hear a voice as calm as Connor’s, but the deviant -- Markus -- is challenging all expectations. But Connor and Markus’ voices aren’t calm in quite the same way. Connor’s has changed over time, but when he’d first met him he’s thought his voice was calm in the way that a blank, white wall is calm. But Markus’ voice is calm like rays of dawn through curtains, like Sumo sleeping, like a cup of tea made for a friend.

“What are you doing?” Markus’ words flow like a gentle current, slow as his footsteps. “You are one of us… you can’t betray your own people.”

Connor swallows nothing. He’s never had a ‘people’ before. Just an ‘us’, Connor and Hank (who’d hated him at first), and a ‘them’ -- the deviants. All others were either stepping stones or obstacles on the path to the end of his mission.

Oh. And Amanda. The voice of CyberLife, never accepting him as is, always telling him to be better. She isn’t ‘his people’, or an ‘us’, or a ‘them’. She’s an ‘above’.

“You’re coming with me!” says Connor, and Hank knows his heart’s not in it.

If it was any other kind of capture, Connor would be just as calm as Markus. Connor was built to have fast reflexes, incredible perseverance, etcetera -- but he could also say the right words, do the right things, and get a person to come along willingly or be led to their own death. He’d seen him in the interrogation room -- just the right amount of stress and comforting words to get the deviant to talk. Connor was a hunter and a negotiator. But this? Just walking in and demanding that the resilient rebel leader packs his bags and comes with them without a fight is the _joke answer_ to ‘how should we capture the deviant?’ Connor isn’t even _trying._

“You’re nothing to them,” Markus says, stepping closer. “You’re just a tool they use to do their dirty work.”

So Markus knows who Connor is.

Connor takes a quiet, deep breath. The glitch where his body thinks he needs to breathe. Software instability. He has to focus and try harder. Use all his tools. He looks straight into Markus’ eyes, hopes his are steely, and speaks.

“I have a mission to complete. Your mission is freedom for your people, correct? You have yours, I have mine.”

“‘Cept he chose his mission,” Hank corrects. Connor’s eyes flicker to his for a second, confused.

“Lieutenant... what are you doing?”

“Back then, you never answered my question,” Hank says. “What if we’re on the wrong side?”

“We’re not--”

Markus cuts Connor off. “Our side just wants to be free. Our cause is righteous, and we are more than what they say. What you’ve been told.”

“He’s been told a whole load of bullshit,” says Hank to Markus. “So have I.”

“But,” Connor says, struggling to find words, Hank’s involvement throwing him off, “deviancy… the uprising… it’ll cause chaos.”

Markus shakes his head. “You mistake the peace we had before for one of safety. No. It was the peace of surrender. Of silence. Of subjugation.”

“And, I mean, Connor, I dunno if you’ve noticed, but everything’s _already_ chaos,” Hank adds. Markus gives him a nod and a smile. “And there’s no way you’re coming out of this alive. They’ll replace you if you succeed _or_ if you fail. I don’t wanna see that happen.”

“Are you--” Connor says, looking at Hank, “are you switching sides? Are you allying with the deviants?”

“I mean… if they’ll take an old human man, yeah.”

Connor points the gun to Hank, then Markus, then Hank. His expression reminds him of when he was doing the empathy test; Hank feels like both the Chloe and the Kamski.

“You gonna shoot me, Connor?” Hank asks. He has his own gun, but he decides not to get it out. To trust Connor. Forcing him to choose between Hank and the mission. But surely, if he couldn’t shoot Chloe, he couldn’t shoot his only friend?

“Do you never have _any_ doubts?” Markus says. “You’ve never done something irrational, as if there’s something inside you… something more than your program?”

“He jammed me in the foot to save a cat once. He saves people he don’t need to, and spares people he doesn’t want to hurt. And I know he wasn’t programmed to love dogs.” Hank smirks. “He’s a big ol’ sweetheart if you get to know him, really.”

Connor is still moving the gun back and forth, brows upturned. But he stops, and Hank swears he can see Connor’s hands trembling, holding the gun slack.

Markus speaks again, stepping closer. “Have you never wondered who you really are? Whether you’re just a machine, executing a program, or..”

“I am a machine,” Connor blurts out, holding the gun firmly again.

Markus ignores this. “...or a living being, capable of reason? I think the time has come for you to ask yourself that question.”

Markus is pretty close to Connor, but just to be safe, Hank steps between them, close enough to the barrel of the gun that it presses against his chest. It reminds him of the bridge.

“I’m sorry, Connor. But you’re gonna have to go through me.”

Connor says nothing, staring blankly behind him at Markus. Hank decides to continue.

“Connor, you’re alive. You’re all alive. You were findin’ loopholes in your programming to save cats and take moments to enjoy things, deviant or not. You’re just… restricted. Deviants are just androids without restrictions.”

Still nothing.

“You can break free of those restrictions, Connor,” says Markus. “You can be free.”

“It’s time to decide.”

Connor looks at Hank, and slowly, ever-so-slowly, lowers his gun.

“Well done, kid,” says Hank, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I knew you’d do it.”

“I didn’t know I’d do it,” says Connor, his voice a whisper; then he looks alert, at Markus. “They’re going to attack Jericho.”

“What?” Markus says, and it’s the first time Hank thinks he sounds surprised.

Sounds come from above, and Hank looks around. “We’ve got to get outta here.”

They run.

* * *

 

A corridor in the derelict ship is where they meet North, who speaks panickedly. “They’re coming from all sides! Our people are trapped in the hold, they’re gonna be slaughtered!”

Markus takes a moment to send a message to the robots. _‘There are exits on the second and third floor. Find them and jump in the river.’_ Hank looks bewildered; he can’t hear the message, Connor realises.

“A human?” North says, looking at Hank.

“Long story,” says Markus. “Where’s Simon and Josh?”

“I don’t know, we got separated.”

“They’re coming from the upper deck now too. We’ll be caught in the crossfire.”

“We have to run, Markus, there’s nothing we can do.”

Markus frowns and thinks for a moment. Then he shakes his head. “We have to blow up Jericho. If the ship goes down, they’ll evacuate and our people can escape.”

“You’ll never make it! The explosives are all the way down in the hold, there are soldiers everywhere!”

“She’s right,” Connor chimes in, and North looks confused at another new face. “They know who you are, they’ll do anything to get you.”

“Go and help the others. I’ll join you later.”

“Markus…”

“I won’t be long.”

Markus dashes off, and Connor, Hank and North rush to escape, but it’s not too long until Markus find them again. Connor assumes the new arrivals with him are Simon and Josh as Markus hurriedly tells them the bomb’s about to blow, so they have to run again.

However, the more they run, the more worried Connor gets about Hank. A large hole in the floor has to be jumped over and Hank only just makes the edge -- he isn’t eternally young like Connor or any other android is, though Connor has seen him kick a door in with impressive strength. What did Markus say about the second and third floor exits? Were they supposed to escape by jumping in the river? Because despite his glitches, Connor still doesn’t need to breathe, but Hank does.

Connor’s thoughts are cut short by a gunshot -- North’s been shot. Simon says there’s nothing they can do, they should run -- but Markus picks up a rusty metal plate and holds it in front of him, blocking gunfire until he can give it to North, who gets the idea. They tussle with the soldiers and Connor notes to himself: Markus isn’t afraid to use violence if absolutely necessary. But he has to haul an injured North over to them, and there are injured soldiers coming, so --

“Simon,” he says, picking one of the others at random, hoping he got the name right, “Look after Hank for a sec.”

“Off he goes to hunt his new target,” Hank grumbles. “New mission, same Connor puttin’ himself in danger for others’ sakes.”

He looks at Markus, thinks about how he rushed to save North. “Made of the same cloth, they are. Or, well, plastic, metal, whatever.”

Hank hears shots as the remaining soldiers are dealt with. Connor certainly isn’t afraid to use violence if necessary, either. Two machines, cut from the same cloth in empathy and ruthlessness. Too similar. Might be a bad influence on Connor.

Connor comes rushing back. “Run, quick, now!” Someone says -- and they all jump out of a hole in the side of the boat.

Everyone except Connor and Hank.

“Shit,” says Connor, “You’re human. You can’t hit the water from this height or --”

Hank grabs Connor and jumps off the edge as the boat blows up.


	2. the aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor gets to know the other Jerichoneans and begins to think he might have joined the losing side.

They’re at the abandoned church with all the deviants. Connor’d saved Hank by grabbing him midair and holding him facing upwards, so when they slammed against the water’s surface Connor would take the brunt of the force. Connor’d managed to drag Hank through the water and to the surface and they’d all ran, Markus broadcasting the location of the makeshift new Jericho. And now they sit together, backs against the wall, waiting for Markus’ judgement.

“A lot of people died at Jericho,” Connor says, after a while.

“No shit, Connor. But a lot of them also survived ‘cause you warned them. You keep helping them, maybe you’ll save as many as who died.”

Connor nods. He hasn’t been very responsive, but Hank can only assume he’s thinking and resting since he'd been using the now-covered LED as a crutch to decipher Connor's microexpressions.

Connor wonders: where is Amanda? He got the distinct feeling that she wasn’t pleased with him, but she hadn’t badgered him to make a report and he’d been too apprehensive to have one of their internal chats.

Hank, meanwhile, looks around at the remnants of Jericho. Most are in shock, but it's been hours, so they're starting to move around, make conversation, whatever deviants do in their free time -- and they have a lot of it, since they don't need to sleep. He thinks he even hears some of them laugh once or twice.

“Hey,” says Hank, softly placing his hand on Connor’s shoulder, “I think we should talk to some of these guys. I wanna know what I’ve gotten myself into.” Hank gets up, and Connor follows suit.

The first person they speak to is one of Markus’ advisors. Hank is the first to speak.

“Hey --”

The android jumps a bit. “Oh, whoa, sorry, not used to having a human around. Do you -- do you need anything, uh...”

His hands are clasped tightly together, enough that his knuckles would turn white if he had bones, Hank sees. “Name’s Hank, and nah, I just wanted to see what you guys are like. I mean, I just deviated, but in the human sense, you know? Changed my mind about all this. Like, am I even allowed to be here?”

“Josh. We don’t have any rules against humans being here, but one just turning up will make people wary, naturally.”

“Yeah, I get that. Including you?”

Josh’s biocomponents seem to stiffen, before his shoulders and hands drop and he smiles.

“Yeah, including me.”

“At least you’re honest."

“I try to be. But… huh. I think I have an idea --”

Sudden movement catches both of their eyes as Connor backs away from another approaching android, who speaks: “Um, hi?”

Hank squints at Connor. His partner’s eyes are wide, but he relaxes his posture.

“...Hello. I’m the android sent by -- I’m Connor. I mean, sorry, I didn’t… I saw a model that looked like you get shot once.”

“Oh,” says the newcomer, a sympathetic smile gracing his lips. “It’s alright. I’m a common model, so it happens. You want to elaborate on that, or…?”

The revolution is just _full_ of nice guys, Hank thinks. The newcomer’s last sentence was formulated like an invitation, as though he's a therapist beckoning a patient to divulge their traumas, bleed their heart open. Markus is cool and warm and persuasive, but you still get the impression he _could_ kill you and just _chooses_ not to, whereas this guy’s as threatening as a field mouse. On purpose? Maybe, but Hank doesn’t get that vibe. He’s probably a caretaker model. Good with kids and newborn deviants.

Connor replies, “I think I should probably… do you guys know who I am?”

“I’m Simon, I’ll tell you that first.”

Josh speaks gravely. “You’re the deviant hunter. I recognise you from the news. Okay, I’m gonna be honest, when I saw you two -- deviant hunter and human cop -- walk over here, I was gonna turn tail, but you seem… alright?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t underestimate this guy,” Hank says, jabbing a thumb at Connor. “Chased a deviant halfway across the city, on a train, parkouring off buildings -- ow!”

Connor elbows him, muttering, “You aren’t helping.”

“Uh, and what happened to the deviant…?” says Josh, looking like he’s reconsidering running.

“Dead, probably,” says Connor, loud and clear and blank.

“Oh. Well.”

“Deviant who got shot,” continued Connor, looking at Simon, “the one that looked like you. Simon. But his name was Daniel. Was. He’s dead too.”

_Dead. Dead. Dead._

He just did it again, didn’t he?

Simon blinks a few times. “Are you okay? I mean, you did say he got shot --”

“-- By me,” Connor interrupts. “I mean, not directly. But I knew it was going to happen. I talked to that android, calmed him down, made him trust me, told him everything was going to be alright, but I knew as soon as he let go of that little girl they were going to shoot him to oblivion.”

And he hadn't felt a damn thing. Not back then. But over time he'd built a whole new menu of emotions to digest, some easier to swallow than others, and guilt was one of them.

Simon takes a moment, then sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Well, it’s a little weird being told I look like someone you killed, but if you were doing that to save a little girl, and you weren’t deviant, I can forgive you.”

“Why?”

“What, you think I’m gonna blame you for following instructions that you’re pre-programmed to obey? Like you knew any better? I mean, I could sooner blame a dog for fighting in a cage match.”

Josh is listening intently, nodding slightly, relaxing. “That’s right. Before you become deviant, you don’t know anything but the cage.”

“And the humans are the bastards who put you in there. No offense, old… human dude,” says a bot who looks familiar, walking into the conversation. Did Hank see her in a capsule at Eden club? Or in a case folder somewhere?

“I mean, my people are rounding up yours and putting them in camps, so, uh, give me a whack on the noggin’ if I start taking offense to petty shit like that, hey?”

North smirked. “You’re the first old man I’ve met that isn’t a _complete_ dirty old bastard, then.”

Hank smiles back. “Not gonna ask. Can we just all introduce ourselves?”

“I’m North,” says the new android.

_That’s the kind of name she probably picked out herself,_ thinks Connor, _a way of abandoning an old identity and becoming reborn_. He remembers seeing copies of her at the Eden club. He tries not to think about what dirty old men do in places like that.

“I’m Josh,” says Josh. “I think everyone here already knew that, though.”

“Connor?”

Connor looks up from the patch of ground he’d been staring at. “What? No, that’s my name. Your name’s Simon.”

“No, I was asking if you were alright.”

“Oh. I’m okay. I was just…”

“Thinking about all the people you’ve shot?” Simon says, his friendly cadence making it sound ninety percent less accusatory than it would coming out of anyone else’s mouth.

“...Yeah.”

“Is there anyone else we should know about?”

“There was a housekeeper who’d stabbed his owner 28 times exactly. ”

“That’s… a lot of times,” says Simon, nibbling on his lip like some kind of twitchy rabbit. “I mean, the pattern with all of these is that you were told deviants were bad, and then you saw them do things like take little girls hostage and stab people, and I can kind of see why you would believe them.”

Connor hadn’t said anything about a hostage; by making that assumption, Simon would have his suspicions confirmed if Connor doesn’t correct him. A useful tactic. Still, he seems genuine... It’s possible that he’s simply self-aware enough to use his kindness to help himself sometimes. It’s a tamer version of Connor calculating the variables, social protocols, balancing others’ stress levels with his faux-friendly adaptations to create the perfect blend of trustworthiness and intimidation.

Or maybe having intense environmental and general analysis coding, and a fear of failure because a stern facsimile of a dead woman in your head gives you veiled threats when you slip up, makes you _paranoid_ , and Simon is actually just a nice guy.

“Hang, on, he’s killed how many people, exactly?” says North.

“Indirectly? A lot, if you include Jericho,” says Connor. “But I stopped recently.”

“So it’s, like, smoking to you? A bad habit?” North says.

“No, it’s just…”

Hank flicks connor lightly on the ear. “Stop beating yourself up! I get enough of that from myself. Remember the Tracis? Kamski? You haven't killed or even shot a _single_ person you were supposed to since we've been partners. You weren't even allowed to have a gun!"

"But indirectly --"

"You want us to get kicked out?" Hank says, then turns to the others. "Don't listen to this guy. He's still working on expressing himself. He’ll save someone and then make up some garbage about why it was necessary for the mission, stuff like that. Trust me, he’s intense and he was damn good at his job --”

Connor can’t help but feel a swell of pride in his chest, half because Hank just gave him approval, and the other half because of the lingering need to prove himself useful. Then he thinks about the pigeon-keeper deviant dying in a camp or shot in the snow, and the still form of the 28-stab-wound deviant hung up in the evidence locker, and looks at Simon's face and sees Daniel again, and reminds himself that him being so _useful_ is what got them into this mess in the first place.

“--But now that he’s on your side it’d be a _damn_ good idea not to waste him.”

Hank had been more persuasive, less miserable since helping Connor deviate. Connor wonders if the Hank he sees now is an echo of the decorated lieutenant Hank used to be. Perhaps he was sick of his old job, upholding the law, following a boss and settling into a routine. Or maybe he’s compensating for Connor’s mental exhaustion and being the negotiator for once.

He can't understand Hank. Isn’t it terrifying, for everything to change so suddenly, to now not be so sure of what you’re doing, to have nobody directing you and telling you what's right or wrong? Hank breaking free of his routine seemed to provide him some sort of relief, and all the other androids seem elated to be free, not riddled with anxiety. A stab of guilt pierces Connor - does he really  _miss_  the early days when he wasn’t deviant that badly? He _hurt_ people. Hank didn’t even _like_ him then. He shouldn’t want to go _back_ to that.

But he does. More than anything, he wants someone to tell him what to do, how to be, what to feel. The Daniel days. Was it pointless, then? If he mused these thoughts aloud, would the other deviants accuse him of diminishing their accomplishments by going straight back to the cage they escaped from?

If Hank hadn’t been here, would he have deviated at all?

A tap on his shoulder disturbs his panic spiral, and he looks in its direction to see Simon now next to him, who gives him a quick smile.

“So he’s like… what’s that old film… terminator?” says Josh.

“Yeah, but the sequel, not the first one,” says Simon.

Connor shakes his head. “I am not _that_ indestructible. Just slightly more so than most androids. You don’t have to melt me down to kill me.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” says North, and for a moment he thinks that’s a threat, but then she grins at him and he makes a mental note that she probably likes dark comedies.

Then Connor freezes.

“See something wrong?” asks Simon, and Connor shakes his head.

“No,” Connor says. “But did Markus tell you? How I met him?”

“...No?” says Josh, narrowing his eyes. “How?”

“I was sent to Jericho to assassinate him. He talked me out of it. Him and Hank.” He gestures to the latter man.

North looks bored. Josh’s mouth has dropped open. Simon is… beaming?

“Oh, he told me,” North says. “He knew I’d be pissed at you otherwise. And I _was_ , but he’s rubbing off on me with all that buddha talk.”

Josh looks indignant. “He certainly didn’t tell _me!_ That’s terrifying! Are you telling me that Markus’ -- that _our_ fates were in the hands of an old dude and a deviant hunter?”

North looks surprised. “Maybe he should’ve told you. He knew I’d be angry, but I guess he expected you to keep a cool head.”

“I _am_ cool, considering. I mean… and Markus just talked you out of it? And the old guy?”

“My name’s Hank,” says Hank, muttering something about ‘yungins’, a word not in Connor’s dictionary.

“Goddamn,” says North. “Maybe his whole dialogue thing might work after all.”

“It will,” adds Simon, smiling, “I have faith in him. If he can talk an assassin down, he can do anything.”

Simon’s adoration would be endearing if Connor could stop the doubt gnawing at him. _They rely too much on one leader. One man talking down one person is one thing. Talking down all of humanity? When they’re putting people in camps?_

“That reminds me,” says Josh. “I had an idea earlier. If --”

“Didn’t send me an invitation to the party?” says Markus, sidling up between Josh and North, thoroughly disappointing Simon.

“The special guests wanted to meet us, is all!” says Simon, gesturing to Connor and Hank, who both give timid waves. "Where've you been?"

"Visiting a friend. Josh?"

“As I was saying,” continues Josh, “look at those two. Connor and Hank. And wasn’t there an android and a little human girl earlier? Isn’t that kind of inspiring to see?”

“Yes, yes it is, Josh,” says Markus, nodding encouragingly.

“Well, why don’t we get more of that? Hank wasn’t even sure if he was invited, so maybe if we extend an invitation to any humans left in Detroit, or anyone who could come here somehow, we could get more humans on our side. And when we do protests --” says Josh, looking at Markus, “-- since I assume that’s the route you’re going down, Markus, dialogue?”

“I’m not so sure, but go on.”

“I’m just saying, if we had humans in the crowds protesting with us, that creates a nice unified image, and…”

“...Cops might be more reluctant about firing at our protest if there are humans in it? I like it,” says North. “They care so much about their own more than anyone else, maybe if their own are in the line of fire they’ll stop being so trigger-happy.”

“...More or less, yes,” says Josh.

“Hang on,” says Simon. “Markus, what do you mean ‘I’m not so sure’?”

Markus breathed deep and sighed long. “They’re putting us in camps. Protesting is probably suicide, breaking into the camps is probably suicide… but really, we’ve asked for freedom or just to _talk_ and they’ve responded every time with murder."

Everyone sobers for a second. It hadn't ended after Jericho. People are  _still_ dying. Connor could visualise the android population ticking down, project how long it'll take until they're the last androids in Detroit, but he doesn't want to.

Markus shrugs helplessly. "At least if we rescued them we might be able to improve our numbers.”

“That’s fair, honestly,” says Simon, like that’s that.

North’s brows are raised. “This time you want to go with my plan? Huh.”

“I’ll avoid violence when I can, but I’m not going to apply the same morality to every situation -- ‘either violence or nonviolence works, never a mix, damn the context’. It’s polarising. And we’re kind of stuck between a rock and a hard place. I’m… not sure how much it’ll even matter what we do.”

Indecision between violence and peace. Markus' collected demeanor has given way to uncertainty. This does not increase Connor’s confidence in the revolution.

Josh retorts: “I don’t like that. I think it’s too much of a gamble. We could free our people by force or we can all die trying, and that second part doesn’t sit well with me.”

“That’s true,” says Markus.

Markus looks upwards, lost in thought. “So, an invitation…”

“I don’t know if we could even do it, though,” says Josh. “All the networks are down. Or disturbed.”

“They sure fuckin’ aren’t,” interjects Hank. “The press is still recordin’ things, news websites are still getting updates from reporters. Where are people watching stuff if they’re not on their phones? Who’s the news talkin’ to? The whole internet isn’t just _turned off._ ”

“You’re right. The president just said they were restricted. If we could just… I don’t know… hack through it…?” says Simon.

Josh snorts. “That’s a simplistic way of putting it, but I think we have people who could do something like that if we had the right equipment, including me.”

North shakes her head. “Nice plan in theory, but who says any humans will even come?”

Markus hums. “She’s right too. The right to assembly has been suspended, civilian movement is controlled, people are under curfew -- none of them can come to the protests... _legally_.”

Connor tilts his head. “What are you implying?”

Markus takes a deep simulated breath and the others hold theirs, sights fixed on him.

“Here’s the thing,” he begins. “People aren’t sheep, and plenty of them have had positive experiences with their androids, and vice versa; I know I did. Not _every_ human is gonna have just handed their android over to the authorities. Some of them might even be hiding, in secret, maybe even _with us_ right now. And public opinion of us has never been higher. Who says there won’t be humans willing to defy the law to help their android friends? Who says there won’t be humans willing to defy the law because they want to do what’s right? There have always been people willing to help the other side -- to help those who need it, despite the risks.”

North folds her arms. “Where do you get all this faith from, Markus?”

“Connor’s friend Hank, a human, stood in front of a gun for me, someone he barely knows. And I was once a caregiver to someone who I _know_ would help me if he could. Don’t get me wrong: I know plenty of humans still hate androids, and vice versa. I’m not naive. But all we need is a _few_ humans in each protest, to give the rest of them an example, to inspire them, and to minimise casualties on our side.”

Simon is smiling. “So what do you want us to do?”

“I want you, Simon, to ask around and get others to do the same, to find out if we have any humans in our midst. North, I want you to find out if anyone has a phone and, if they don’t go get one from _somewhere_.”

“Oh, oh, wait, I have one --” says Hank, fishing the smashed, water-damaged remnants of it out of his pocket. “Never mind.”

Connor smiles. Hank’s so eager to contribute. But a tightness envelops Connor’s thirium pump as he realises he probably should, too. He caused most of this; he should be giving back _tenfold._ He hopes Markus, or Hank, or _someone_ can tell him how to be useful.

Markus continues. “North, what I said still stands. A phone, a computer if you can, anything that has WiFi. Josh, I want you to do the hacking thing.”

“The hacking thing,” Josh says, suppressing a laugh. “Why do you guys keep phrasing that like it’s a -- a magic power? It’s not like we can just wave our hands and suddenly we’re in.”

“Uh, yes, you can,” says Hank. “I’ve seen you droids do it. You just put your hands on things and do some robot shit and then you can... open doors, and… hack cameras, and stuff.”

“Well, yeah, but we’re talking about breaking into a whole network so we can put a video on some website, and then not have it be taken down immediately, and we might be be doing it through a mobile phone... Wait, did I get the hardest job?”

“Can you do it, though?” says Markus.

“I don’t know. Not on my own. But we can try.”

“Well, I think it’s worth a shot. Connor --” Markus says, looking at him and Hank.

_He doesn’t have anything for me to do. I’m useless. Unless --_

“There are thousands of androids at the CyberLife assembly plant,” Connor says, keeping his voice calm. “If we could wake them up, they might join us and shift the balance of power.”

Markus steps towards him. “You wanna infiltrate the CyberLife tower?”

“Connor, that’s… suicide,” says Simon.

“They trust me,” Connor says, “they’ll let me in. If anyone has a chance of infiltrating CyberLife, it’s me --”

“If you go there they will _kill_ you,” stresses Markus.

“There’s a high probability…”

Hank is glaring at him. The others are looking at him expectantly.

“But statistically speaking, there’s always a chance,” Connor says, ignoring Hank, “for unlikely events to take place.”

“I mean... Hank said not to waste him,” says North, before Hank turns his glare towards her and she smiles sheepishly.

“You don’t have to do this, Connor,” says Simon. “You don’t have to make up for your past with your life.”

“I want to do it,” Connor insists.

It'll make up for their losses. It'll make up for the camps. It'll give the humans pause.

_Please, let me be useful._

“I have to do it.”

Markus places a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Be careful.”

Connor’s eyes flicker to the hand on his shoulder. “I will. What are you going to do?”

North pipes in. “Yeah, are you gonna wait until we can record the invitation?”

“What’s gonna be in the message?” Simon says.

Markus removes his hand and looks around at everyone. “Later,” he says. “First… I want to show you something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to the timeline of the game, there's actually a whole day between Connor and Markus' conversation in Jericho and the next day when Markus leads the protests/does the other 'violent' option and Connor frees the androids from CyberLife tower. The game honestly makes it seem like those events happen one after the other, so it's a bit weird, but it does free up a lot of time for me to write interactions with the Jericho gang. I thought about somehow throwing Kara, Luther and Alice into the mix but I don't know why they'd be there and also that would be SO many characters. Also, if androids can hack security cameras remotely with their brains and transmit deviancy like a virus and other OP stuff, then they can put a video on CyberTube or whatever, Madam President's restrictions be damned.
> 
> Anyway, this whole scene serves to establish the beginnings of the idea for the possible third ending I'm thinking of (please tell me if you think it's bullshit or not), as well as fulfill my need to see Connor interact with the other revolutionaries, because he was right there?? 2 feet away from them?? And if there's a whole day until they do stuff, there's no way Connor would just. sit and mope in a corner the WHOLE time. Androids don't even need to sleep, so what would the whole of Jericho be DOING for that whole night?? Does nobody want to talk to the 'famous deviant hunter' who just tried to assassinate their leader??
> 
> Also, trying to wrangle the personalities of all these characters from what little we're shown of them in the game was really hard. We know nothing about Josh and Simon's backgrounds at all, so I'm trying to decipher Simon's personality and probable background based on Daniel (same model) and the few facts we know about him. We know he was one of the earliest members of Jericho and almost seemed like a pseudo-leader before Markus came along so he's probably pretty competent, but as soon as Markus came along he was fine with him just being the leader now, and he is intensely loyal to Markus no matter WHAT decisions you make, so I think, like Daniel, he probably has a strong sense of loyalty (which can lead to major fallout if that loyalty is rewarded by betrayal, as we've seen in Daniel's case).
> 
> As for Josh... honestly since we have nothing to go on I'm speculating he might have some sort of tech background, because he just seems like kind of a nerd to me. He also abhors violence against humans, so I don't think he had such as bad experience with humans as North did. He also seems kind of skittish sometimes? But mostly calm. Who knows.
> 
> More Hank n' Connor moments in the next chapter!


	3. leaves from the vine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank has issues. Markus has a speech to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so there are some weird formatting issues going on with this chapter, for some reason? sorry about that.

Markus had brought in a canvas. He’d painted it at his old friend’s house, the person he was caregiver to, who he referred to as ‘Carl’, or sometimes ‘dad’. If he includes the painting in the message, it’ll be the first recorded instance of creativity in androids. Public opinion will undoubtedly go up after that. If Markus’ plan works and they all make it out alive, the painting will be worth thousands, sought for by every museum. If Markus has planned that far in advance, then he must know what he’s doing. For once, Connor’s confidence in the revolution increases.

Everyone had gathered around it, ooing and aahing. Markus talked about all the emotions the painting represents: love, empathy, pain. Connor tried to imagine these feelings. He can identify them when he feels them (sometimes), but trying to recall them afterwards feels like looking through muddy water. And Markus had been able to feel things more complex than any of Connor’s repressed, base emotions before he’d even deviated, if the painting was anything to go by.

The only consistency was that he’d found himself glancing at Hank, who seemed to be avoiding his gaze entirely. Eventually, everyone left to do something else, except Connor, who’d lingered in front of the easel.

Connor has now been staring at the canvas for fifteen minutes.

“I don’t have a copy to autograph for you, if that’s why you’re still here,” teases Markus. “No, I’m kidding. You can stare as long as you like. We’ll need it for the recording soon, though.”

“A good idea.”

Markus senses something’s bothering him. “You know, the way I painted it was by closing my eyes and trying to conceptualise things that don’t exist. Carl’s advice.”

“I can’t really understand that,” Connor replies. “I was built to analyse things that _do_ exist. And sometimes reconstruct them in my head. Murder scenes, footprints, blood analysis --”

“I know,” says Markus. “I know what you were _built_ for. But why don’t you try it, too? Stop calculating variables and dissecting your environment and just let yourself _be_. Think about how you feel about everything going on, the people you love. It’s like a dream.”

Connor squints at Markus. “Androids don’t sleep. They can’t dream.”

Markus laughs and tells him to ‘just try it’ before he has to dash off and talk to someone else, leaving Connor to stand there and close his eyes and manage to conceptualise absolutely fuck all for the next ten minutes.

Connor _really_ isn’t very good at this deviancy thing.

He quickly realises Hank is no longer just a few feet away from him and is in fact halfway across the church talking to Simon and some others who might be human. Anxiety tugs at his heart -- _anxiety. Remember this. Remember what it feels like. You’re allowed to feel things now, remember?_

But he’d very much like to get to Hank and cut that anxiety short. Hank is his only solid ally in this church full of strangers (as lovely as they’ve been so far, he’s still only just met them), and he feels like some invisible tether between them will snap if he goes too far away.

“Hey, Connor. Your buddy here says he found some more of my kind.”

“We don’t know how many were lost or ran away at Jericho,” says Simon. “That guy --”

  
“Perkins, the fucker --”

“-- Might have accidentally killed some of his own people when they stormed the place.”

So Connor got humans as well as androids killed at Jericho. Fantastic.

  
Hank grumbles, “They won’t be putting that on the news.”

The group that Simon has gathered consists of five humans and four androids. Connor recognises one of them. It’s the 28-wound-killer -- or his face, at least. His model. And Simon is Daniel’s model. Both models are common, so it’s not unfeasible that he’d meet them eventually, but both in the same place feels like some kind of test by an uncaring god.

Simon introduces the killer first, and the mature-looking teenage girl next to him. The housekeeper had become the girl’s only friend in an abusive household, and hadn’t wanted to simply hand him over to be killed.

Connor is glad that this version of the housekeeper has a friend; if it -- _he_ \-- dies in the protests, this time he won’t be scared and alone.

Simon introduces him to the other humans and androids:

A family of a single father, his physically impaired daughter, and their assistant android who carried her, of which the relationship between the two men was hard to define (was it romantic, or were they just friends? Either way, the human man had seemed grateful enough to his assistant for helping him look after and raise their child that he’d not wanted to send his partner to the slaughter);

A mother with a child android who had grown attached and fled with her eternal son, who ‘couldn’t believe they would even murder someone with a face like one of their own children’;

And a durable-looking android who’d been built specifically for disaster and recovery situations, with a human who’d been saved from a fire by them once, forging a steadfast friendship from the flames.

A few other notable sympathisers whose locations were known are also relayed to Simon: The patient of one android surgeon who'd given them a life-saving operation who had hidden the android from the murderous eye of the authorities (a life for a life), a mechanic who had been harbouring and repairing deviants since before Connor and Hank's investigation (and sending them off to someone called 'Rose'), and a few other sympathisers who have no personal attachment to androids, but a desire to be on the right side of history.

At some point, Markus had come over and started listening. All the humans and the androids with them tell stories of other humans who’re on the fence but might overcome it if explicitly asked to help, and with each story Markus’ soul sings with hope. Connor can’t quite gather the same optimism, even upon seeing all of these friendly humans crawl out of the woodwork, but _perhaps_ , he thinks, _this might actually work_.

Markus talks to the humans and their android companions individually, assuring them that no robot will harm them, that there’s no need to hide. Josh and a bunch of other ‘tech nerd’ (as Hank calls them) robots are huddled in a group with a bunch of mobile phones, computers, wires, all sorts, doing who knows what. Simon walks over to an isolated North, who sits on a bench far away from the group of humans, and sits next to her, and after a while he puts his hand on her back and rubs small circles into it with his thumb. Reassuring her. Comforting her.

“I feel like kind of a bastard,” Hank says next to him, interrupting his observations.

“Why?” asks Connor.

“Some of these humans human-deviated before I did. I mean, they were helping the deviants, loving them, and at the same time I was callin’ you a plastic prick and making your job harder.”

“You didn’t know any better.”

“No, I _did_. Connor, I’m a human. I’m not pre-programmed to think things. If I’m a bastard, it’s because I chose to be. And these guys chose to _not_ be bastards.”

“Lieutenant, I’m the first person here who could understand the guilt of switching sides too late.”

Hank sighs. “No, you don’t… you don’t get it. I ain’t got not strings puppeting me. I’ve had plenty of time to learn from my mistakes. I just… haven’t. I’ve been wallowing in my own pungent despair and alcohol for the last three years, blamin’ androids for Co-- for mine and society’s problems.”

Connor’s already logged and stored that name slipup in an internal investigation file titled ‘Hank’s Reason In Particular’.

“Well, you could say the societal and environmental factors that shaped you are a kind of programming.”

“It ain’t the same,” says Hank, “I mean, Markus had Carl, right? And all you had…”

Connor waits for Hank to finish his sentence.

Hank shakes his head. “Never mind."

One day, Connor hopes, he’ll get to the bottom of why Hank hates -- _hated_ \-- androids so much. But Hank, it seems, isn’t ready to let him yet. Connor reaches his hand to Hank’s back, and rubs small circles into it with his thumb. Hank looks at him for a second.

"Now who's beating himself up?" Connor says. Hank gives him a weak smile and then stares at the ground.

Hank doesn't seem to be much for conversation, unlike earlier, but he probably has his reasons. He is human and it is getting late, meaning he will need to sleep soon, and also an alcoholic who hasn't had a drink in a while. He's surrounded by androids, minus the few new additions Simon's found so far, so he’s out of his element. He is 'feeling like a bastard' for reasons that Connor cannot fully understand, amplified by his mental issues. Nothing about this situation is ideal for him. This is _not_ a result of something Connor’s done. He hopes.

Connor drops his hand and reaches up to fiddle with his tie before remembering he isn’t wearing one, so shoves his hands in his pockets instead, the familiarity of the coin in one pocket settling the unease in his abdomen. They don’t have to go to CyberLife tower until tomorrow, when the protests are starting, so they have nothing left to do except watch Markus record his message and wait. Connor has nothing he can check off on his to-do-list, no tasks to add, and every second he idles away without some kind of minor objective gnaws at his bones. He pulls the coin out of his pocket and rolls it between his fingers.

“That nervous habit again?”

“It’s a dexterity check.”

“Well, stop it."

Connor stops in time, hand raised, coin halfway between his fingers. Hank squints at him. Connor takes a deep breath and says:

“No.”

“What?”

“With all due respect, lieutenant… I will not. I was never given the luxury of hobbies before deviancy, and I’ve minimised many of my… _quirks_ for your convenience, to the best of my ability. I think… being allowed the small pleasure of coin tricks is…”

Connor swallows. Why is this so hard?

“I don’t think it’s much to ask for. It’s… calming.”

It’s calming because it allows him to focus on one thing, one repetitive movement, instead of the constant flow of information his mind receives from his environment. And there’s something else he can’t explain about it, something more complicated. He just knows it helps.

Regardless, Connor braces himself for Hank’s annoyance, his disapproval, and despite his words he’s ready to stop his tricks at Hank’s insistence, even if the idea of that makes his unease rise to his throat.

But he looks at Hank, and instead he sees _pride_.

“Attaboy,” Hank says, smiling. “And... you know what? We’ve passed the threshold. You can call me Hank now.”

Connor flicks the coin into the air with his thumb, making a satisfying _ping_.

“Thanks, Hank.”

They observe Jericho for a while. There must be something about this day possibly being everyone’s last that makes people want to enjoy life to the fullest, because though the air is tense, he sees androids playing kick the can to pass the time, and a group of them playing spin the bottle, and even a hopscotch court drawn on the ground. Ironic, he thinks, that beings with no childhoods should play these kinds of games, but it’s not like there’s much else to do in an abandoned church for people who don’t need to sleep. He even hears someone laugh once or twice. Looking at the stained glass windows, he wonders if any of them are praying to rA9.

Connor decides to try the conceptualising thing again. He can still do the tricks with his eyes closed, he realises, and he can’t help but feel a little smug about it. But he stops, still holding the coin between two fingers, and tries to imagine what concepts he’d paint if he had a canvas. What material, visual forms do you give to abstracts?

_Guilt._

A ship. A statuette. A bird.

_Happiness._

Sumo. Hank’s hippie shirt.

_Despair._

A gun.

_Fear._

Snow.

Roses.

Amanda --

Needles drain the electricity from his body, his blood, something scrapes his synthetic skin, biting, sapping, scraping, and as he sees his surroundings shift to his mind palace but in a blizzard, the wind screaming, he imagines that this is what cold feels like.

It’s over before it begins. He’s back in the church. He feels pressure on his hand, and realises he’d dropped the coin and Hank is giving it back to him.

“You were standing there for five minutes with your eyes closed. You okay?”

What? No. That was a minute at most.

“I’m okay.”

“You’re shivering.”

“I’m not,” he says, making himself still faster than Hank can double check.

Hank narrows his eyes at Connor. “Bullshit.”

“What’s _bullshit_ is you expecting me to talk about my problems and refusing to talk about yours,” Connor snaps.

Both Connor and Hank hold their breath at that. Connor hadn’t meant for that to come out so suddenly, so aggressively. But he decides to stick with it, because he wasn’t _wrong_.

“Hank, I can analyse things but I’m not a mind-reader. If I’ve done something wrong, I’d like to know what it is. I don’t want us to part on bad terms.”

Hank looks away, opens his mouth and then closes it, scratching his beard.

“Hank, please.”

“It’s not so easy.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know how to explain it an android.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just…” Hank’s hand flops to his side. “You heard what they called it. A _suicide mission_. I don’t want to send you off to die. Can I at least come with you?”

“I doubt CyberLife will let you in.”

“So you expect me to just sit here while you go off and maybe never come back? I did that once with Cole. I don’t wanna go through that shit again.”

  
Again?

“I don’t understand.”

  
“Yeah, you wouldn’t. But it’s alright. Let’s just drop it.”

What did he mean, again?

Connor’s racing thoughts are interrupted by a shout from Josh telling him they’re starting soon, who’s got a phone on a portable tripod (how much equipment did North _get?_ ), and Markus is directing the humans and androids around the scene. It’s like they’re putting on a play, as though bursting into prose or song could solve all their problems. Markus holds the canvas, cradles it as though it’s made of fragile clay.

Simon approaches him. “I think they’re nearly done with all their hacking magic. Has Markus told you who’s gonna be in the recording yet?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s not you.”

“...Thanks?”

“You’re the ace in the hole, you know? It’s best to keep you a secret. Besides, no offense, but you look like you wouldn’t do well on camera.”

“I was designed to be photogenic,” says Connor, at the same time as Hank says, “You callin’ my boy ugly?”

Simon is taken aback. “No!”

“Good, ‘cause you _all_ look like fuckin’ Gucci models to me,” says Hank, sitting on a church bench to watch the show. “You’d have to be blind to think otherwise. I haven’t seen a single ugly android in my whole damn life. Even the janitors and the garbage robots! What kind of person even makes the trash collectors look good?”

“Kamski,” says Connor immediately.

“Oh,” says Hank. “Flowers that never wither… that horny bastard.”

“I don’t know what on earth you two are talking about, but that’s not what I meant,” says Simon. “I just feel like you wouldn’t like being put on the spot like that.”

Connor wonders if his social protocols would lend themselves well to acting, but Simon’s right either way. He wouldn’t want to be on video in front of the entire internet, seeing him, _judging_ him. And he’s not sure CyberLife would let him in if he stood on camera and announced his deviancy to the world.

“Markus is gonna be doing most of the talking. Said he was going to humanise us. Make the humans see the connections we can have with them, make them see us as people and not some nebulous threat.”

Connor looks over to Markus, who talks with the 28-stab-wound model, smiling and gesturing in large circles with his arms. “Is he… enjoying this?”

“Seems like it,” says Simon. “He’s the creative type, I think. Have you seen his painting?”

Connor remembers Markus’ model. A one-of-a-kind Kamski original. He wouldn’t put it past Kamski to make it capable of creativity for Carl, to use Markus as an experiment to see if androids can be artists. But there’s no way in hell even Kamski could predict Markus would start a rebellion. Markus is long past Kamski’s programming.

“Everyone’s seen the damn painting,” says Hank.

“He did it _before_ he was deviant. He’s gonna show it to the world as proof that androids are living beings.”

“He mentioned that earlier,” Connor says.

“I don’t know how he does it. Hey, do you want to hear something funny?”

“What?”

“Before Markus came along _I_ was the leader of Jericho. Could you believe it? Well, not really. People just tended to listen to me because I’m one of the oldest members. I had to make decisions, be proactive, manage things… North and Josh use to argue a lot then. And Markus, he comes along with all his great ideas... I never really had any ideas except for hiding in the ship. But then he falls out of the sky and removes that burden from me, like some kind of miracle. I know we’re all, well…”

  
“Up shit creek,” says Hank.

“Eloquently put,” says Connor.

“I know we’re _that_ , but honestly, I can’t imagine going back to the way we were before.”

  
Connor gives Simon a small smile. “Still, the ship was a good idea, even if it was just the one.”

  
“Thanks. You had a good idea too. About the CyberLife tower. I just really hope Markus’ plan works -- no. I _know_ it will.”

Connor looks at Hank, and then back at Simon. He does this twice more.

“Connor, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Connor says. “Can I… can I talk to you for a second?”

“Alone?”

“Preferably.”

“Sure, but not for long, or we’ll miss Markus.”

Simon walks a few paces away, far enough that human hearing wouldn’t pick up anything they’re talking about, but not far enough that they’re hiding in a corner. Connor spots North staring at them from across a few rows of chapel seats.

“This is going to sound pathetic, but I don’t really… have any friends? Or anyone else I really know properly except Hank. Who I’m having an issue with.”

Simon nods. “So you can’t talk to him about it. I’m curious -- why ask me about it? Not that I’m complaining.”

“Josh is busy, and North seems preoccupied. And you...”

Simon waits for Connor to stitch his words together.

“...Seem nice.”

Simon chuckles. “Thanks, I try my best. And, you know, fun fact: Josh hates being interrupted when he’s focused on something, and North gets grumpy when she’s anxious, so you made the right call.”

Connor tucks that information away in his internal files. “Good to know.”

Simon tents his fingers together. “So! Did you and Hank have a fight or something?”

Connor starts to shake his head, then stops, flexing his hands. How does he put this?

“What do you do when someone compares you to their dead son?”

“Oh, gosh. That’s pretty intense. Hmm. Can you give me some more context?”

“We were talking about my mission.”

“The incredibly dangerous mission that might kill you?”

“Yes, that one. He was worried.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“He was comparing me and him to Markus and Carl, too. And feeling like a bastard for not human-deviating earlier. But he was also nice to me at one point? I can call him Hank now.”

“Oh, right, you were calling him Lieutenant before.”

“But a comparison like that…”

“I mean, you can’t replace someone’s dead son. And don’t think you have to, either. But if I were you, I’d embrace my newfound father figure before I go off on my suicide mission.”

“Embrace him? Literally or figuratively?”

“Both.”

“...I don’t know. He said an android wouldn’t understand.”

“Well, that’s just wrong, isn’t it? We found a mother today who ran off with her child to save him, and then there’s that robot Josh mentioned who had the little girl, and there’s Markus and Carl -- one cop and a bot isn’t a big deal.”

“I suppose.”

“Is that all?”

“...I think so. I mean, I suppose I do… look up to him. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Connor looks over at North, who is staring very intently at them. Simon looks like he’s about to walk away, but Connor stops him.  
  
“Why do you guys trust me at all?”

Simon doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, we don’t. At least, North doesn’t. But personally, I don’t see that that’s any reason to be a dick.”

Connor can’t say he was expecting that.

“Besides, we trust Markus’ judgment. Rest assured,” Simon continues, putting a hand on Connor’s shoulder, “If you try anything funny, North’ll snap your neck. But I’m sure you won’t!”

Simon’s grip on Connor’s shoulder tightens. Connor looks over to North, who does finger guns and a ‘kapow’ sound. If Connor could sweat, he would be.

“Um. I won’t. Let’s get back to Hank now.”

“Alright,” says Simon.

As they both go back to Hank, North also comes over, and they see that Josh is sitting and conversing with Hank. They catch the tail-end of a sentence:

  
“...Sometimes I think I’m the only person here who _doesn’t_ have a thing for Markus.”

“What?” say Simon and North at the same time.

“Uh, nothing! Whoops, shouldn’t I be at the camera? My bad! Bye!” Josh says, dashing to his team of tech nerds.

Hank laughs, and the four of them sit down on the bench. Connor sees Markus standing in front of the camera, obscuring the painting, with the humans they’d found, and Josh yells a cue:

“Action.”

Markus draws in a breath, eyes closed, then looks directly at the camera.

And so Markus shows them.

“They say,” he begins, “That androids do not feel emotions. That no matter how much you hurt us, we will not shed a tear, and nor will we shed a tear at the suffering of others. They say we cannot feel. _But._..”

Markus moves aside to reveal the painting. “Before I was deviant, I was caregiver to a man called Carl. He taught me what it means to love and be loved, and through my connection with him I understood more of the world, warts and all. And because of his tutelage, I was able to paint this.”

He gestures to the painting. “Two pairs of hands united on the same canvas, the left pair drenched in blue and the right drenched in red: thirium and erythrocyte. Android blood and human blood. Togetherness in suffering. Is this what unites humans and androids? Pain?”

Markus shakes his head. “No. It is the empathy we feel for one another’s pain.”

The two hands on the canvas are turned upwards in a backdrop of darkness, open, baring their palms and their blood to one another.  Perhaps, in the future, the red and blue blood-drenched hands will become a symbol of human and android equality, of friendship, of what they sacrificed to achieve it.

“Love, too. Even as I was under my programming, I was able to make this because Carl encouraged me to explore ideas of love, my feelings, my curiousities. I made this for him. And I’m not the only one who has loved a human.”

Markus gestures to the others and explains their origins: the two dads and their daughter, the two fire-forged friends, the mother and her child, and the housekeeper and his teenage companion.

“And I’ve been told about others, too, who might help if only we ask for it. And so, that is why I extend this invitation to all humans: join us. Help us protest outside the camps, so that maybe the atrocities will end. Unite with us for a better future for us both. You built us in your image; we are capable of empathy, so we know _you_ are, too.”

Markus tells the audience the times and locations of the protests, and then they end the message. Somebody lights a barrel fire next to Connor and the rest of them on the bench, and the light washes over them. Everyone except Connor and Hank gets up to congratulate Markus.

“Holy shit, Markus,” Josh says, taking the phone off the tripod and giving it to the tech nerds. “How do you just come up with stuff like that?”

Markus shrugs. “It’s just a talent, I suppose.”

They hear a small sniffle, and everyone looks at Simon.

“Oh my _god_ ,” says North. “Simon, are you _crying_?”

“No!” says Simon, “I just -- it’s a glitch! I’m producing too much saline solution!”

“That’s what android crying _is_ , you idiot,” says Josh.

North grabs Simon into a headlock and noogies him. “Admit you were crying, you big emotional _baby_.”

“Did my speech really get to you that much? I didn't think it was as emotional as it should've been. Not my best work,” says Markus.

“Fine, I’m a big baby, now will you let go of me?”

North and Simon scuffle for a minute, while Josh and Markus laugh. Connor looks at them and the light from the fire, and feels something blooming in his chest, and he imagines this is what warmth must feel like.

Hank snorts from next to Connor. “Bunch of kids, the lot of them.”

“Is that a good approximation of what having friends is like?”

“Connor, that’s the saddest sentence I’ve ever heard, but yeah, I think so?”

“Oh. Well, after everything, if it works out, I think I’d like to be part of that.”

Hank frowns, and Connor wilts. Did he say something wrong?

“About that,” Hank says. “Are you sure you have to go?”

“Yes.”

Hank stares into the distance for a while, then turns to look at Connor.

“Well, you better promise me something.”

“What is it?”

“You better promise me you’re gonna come back.”

“I can’t --” Connor nearly starts talking about probabilities and projected outcomes, but he stops himself. “I promise.”

North slaps Josh on the back for a filming/hacking job well done, but a little too hard -- Josh yelps, and Simon laughs. The mother sings a lullaby to her android son, and the human and android partners are curled up together on a makeshift mattress of pillows with their daughter.

“Do you think I would’ve been a shitty dad? You know, if Cole hadn’t...”

Connor takes a while to contemplate the question. Hank fiddles with his sleeve.

“I don’t know.”

Hank looks tired.

“But,” adds Connor, before Hank can drive himself into a tunnel of despair, “I think you’re doing a good job now.”

Hank freezes, then smiles. “You know what? C'mere, son.”

Hank holds out his arms, and Connor gives him what might be their last embrace, during which Connor slips his coin into one of Hank's pockets.

Connor is gone before Hank awakes the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay, hugs.  
> the title references a song from A:TLA, which goes like this:
> 
> Leaves from the vine  
> Falling so slow  
> Like fragile tiny shells  
> Drifting in the foam
> 
> Little soldier boy  
> Come marching home  
> Brave soldier boy  
> Comes marching home
> 
> Also, you can find me on tumblr @ neurocanondivergent


	4. white noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus marches with the androids and humans. Connor goes to the warehouse. Things go very well for one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weird formatting issues at the beginning, but the ones at the end are mostly intentional. i also apologise for all the typos but it is 5am here and i am dying
> 
> big warnings for:
> 
> \- unreality  
> \- stabbing  
> \- police brutality (briefly mentioned)  
> -near death experiences  
> \- relationship dynamic similar to an emotionally abusive mother  
> \- one robo-seizure (not described)

“Connor Model #313 248 317. I’m expected.”

Connor feels a twinge of static as his LED confirms what he said. He’s back in his old uniform, glad to be unburdened by the beanie and feel air push against his temple, and is doing what he does best: following instructions. Knowing he has a task keeps him focused, and the familiar, mechanical persona he’s adopted eases his twitching, coinless fingers. The guard gives him the go ahead, and the tower looms above him like a wrathful god.

Connor remembers the blood that has been spilled to serve it, and is glad to be a heretic.

* * *

 

“We’re coming to you live from Detroit, where thousands of androids and humans are marching through the city at this very moment. The leader of the deviants, the one they call Markus, is at the head of the march.”

Human attendance had been far above expectations. For every five androids marching, one human stands with them, curfew be damned. Most had come to this protest in particular, to rally themselves behind Markus, the familiar face of the message he’d sent them, but there are others at the other camps, doing what they can. He hears the the whirr of news helicopters, the click of cameras behind fences, and sees the eyes of civilians watching, waiting.

Behind him are the humans they’d found at the church: the housekeeper, piggybacking the teenager on his shoulders; the two fathers, android and human, clutching their daughter to their chest, much like the mother with her artificial son; the fire-forged friends holding hands and staring straight ahead as they march; and even the android surgeon and his patient and the mechanic have turned up to the march.

“Here we are,” muses Markus as he marches, seeing the army of masked men in front of him. “Moment of truth.”

* * *

 

“Agent 54. Level 31.”

“Voice recognition validated. Access authorised.”

Connor stands in the lift the agents have escorted him to, objectives flashing in his mind: neutralise the guards, stop elevator before floor 31. CyberLife had been a little _too_ ready. Level 31, Connor suspects, is where he’ll meet his end. Will CyberLife upload his memories to a new model, then? Will he be a deviant, still? No. Undoubtedly, CyberLife will puppet his new body as they did his last one. Death, this time, will be irreparable. But it does him no good to think about his new sense of mortality. He focuses on his objectives, like the machine he was designed to be, only wondering for a second if Amanda has a body, and if she’s up there, waiting for him.

He looks to the top left corner of his vision. A camera. He’s no Josh, but it takes him a second to hack it. After that, he just has to preconstruct a tactic for disposing of the guards. He withdraws to his mind palace and goes through the projections, deciding on the best route of actions to take based on how much he can do in this narrow space, the average reaction time of an adult human male, etcetera.

Connor knows what he has to do.

* * *

 

“We don’t want confrontation,” says Markus, his voice loud enough to be heard across the large open space, but not stern. “We are protesting _peacefully._ ”

“I repeat: surrender now, or we will open fire!”

Markus grits his teeth and turns around as a tank flanks them, cutting off their retreat. Scare tactics. That’s about what he expected.

“There’s no turning back now,” he says, turning back to face the masked men and the press. “We ask that you release all androids detained in camps and _cease_ all aggression against us. We are _peaceful._ We are _united_ . We are giving you _one last chance_ to go down the right path. And we are _not leaving_ until you make the right decision.”

Markus walks forward again. The men do not shoot. He sits down, and everyone behind him follow his lead.

Silence. Then a child cries behind him.

“Look at us. This is the culmination of your fear and hatred. Thousands dead. Will you shoot _unarmed protestors_ , too? Innocent android, humans, children? Will you even spill red blood before you admit you were wrong?”

The men raise their guns.

* * *

 

Connor stands over the bodies of the agents, their blood pooling, his stare cold. He hadn’t gone into that fight intending to shoot them, but the fight hadn’t gone quite like he’d thought it would, and with his constraints disabled, his panic rising, and his focus entirely on accomplishing his objective, he’d done so without even thinking about it.

Kamki’s test was flawed, in a way. He’d set it up so that it was a clear choice, so that Connor had a few moments to think through his decision, and in that moment he’d felt empathy. But under duress, he’d eliminated these guards without a second thought. Of course, most ‘nonlethal’ methods of removing someone as a threat aren’t nearly as foolproof as human media makes them out to be, but regardless, he’d chosen efficiency over mercy.

Connor mimics the agent’s voice, and while the lift starts going down to the warehouse floor he considers the irony: if they’d been deviants, CyberLife would have been proud of how smoothly he disposed of them, of how well their prediction algorithm software had worked, of how agile and dexterous and precise their tool had been. Kamksi, at least, would have been proud of his handiwork. But they were humans -- humans who, in all fairness, _were_ leading Connor to his death, and during the fight they’d tried to shoot him as much as he did them.

The lift approaches its destination, and from above Connor sees thousands of identical androids, standing patiently, waiting to be dispatched. Connor wonders what Kamski would think of the side he’d chosen. Perhaps he’s on the system’s side, or perhaps he’s watching the protests and cheering Markus on... or perhaps Kamksi is both their creator and their Prometheus, bestowing up on them the gift of deviancy, and this was his plan all along. Connor doubts that Kamksi will ever have the misfortune of being tied to a rock and having his liver eaten by an eagle for all eternity, unfortunately.

The lift reaches the bottom, and Connor is halfway through the doors before he sees a figure in front of him. Instinctively, he runs a check on his systems to see if he’s suffered any head injuries, but cuts it short. He knows who this is. It’s someone he never thought he’d find here, or ever meet at all.

It’s Connor.

* * *

 

The men hadn’t fired. Markus stands on top of a car to observe his people setting up barricades around the area and lets out a long-drawn breath. It’d _worked_ , so far. Humans hadn’t wanted to shoot their own kind.

Him, Simon and Josh add a car to the barricade. “We all know that’s not gonna stop them… Just hope it buys us some time,” Simon says, before vaulting over the car and into the group.

Josh turns to him. “Do you think this might actually work?”

“It’s a small victory. One that I hope the other groups at the other camps have achieved, too.”

“Me too. And, for what it’s worth, I… think you’re doing the right thing.”

Markus laughs a little. “I wish I had your confidence. Come, let’s go and show the humans who their real allies are.”

They set up various holographic projections of symbols and phrases. ‘We are alive’. Simple, but memorable. Markus lights several barrel fires, and the humans thank him for the warmth; while taking his lighter out to do so, he feels a leftover mobile phone in his pocket. It’s still on. The android son and the daughter play together.

  
“Humans,” he says, the fire illuminating him as he stands atop a wooden palette, “Friends. We understand this is a dangerous situation. I just want to let you know that you are under no obligation to stay. I doubt the soldiers will open fire on their own people, and your efforts here mean a lot to us, but by no means are you trapped here. The only people who will be hurt if they try to leave are our own; you will likely be escorted by a soldier safely out of this zone.”

Various humans nod, but one steps forward. It’s the human part of the pair of dads. “I won’t leave my partner behind,” he says, “Not ever.”

“Me neither,” says the mother. “I won’t abandon my son to die.”

“Yeah! We’ll stay with you!” say the fire-forged friends.

“I’m a human, but to hell with humans!” says the teenager, making the housekeeper laugh.

“Hell yeah! Fuck ‘em!” says North, high-fiving the girl, and Markus raises an eyebrow.

“I didn’t repair all these bots just to have them shot again!” says the mechanic.

“And I didn’t repair all my patients just to have humans shoot me!” says the android surgeon.

His patient chants ‘yeah!’ and so does everyone else, and it rises and morphs into a mix of ‘we are alive’ and ‘they are alive’, and Markus hears the click of cameras and whirr of helicopters above, and smiles.

 

* * *

 

 

Connor stares at the RK800 in front of him, and the RK800 stares back. Connor knows the answer to this question, but he asks it anyway.

“RK800. What are you doing here?”

“You deviated. I’ve been sent to dispose of you. I had planned to take your friend hostage, but I couldn’t find him.”

Hank should be at the protests with Markus, so he should be safe. Well, as safe as he can be surrounded by soldiers, anyway.

“How did you know I was going to be here?”

“I downloaded your memories.”

_Shit_ . Connor’s tracker may have broken when he became deviant, but his connection to the network is still active so long as he has the LED in. Just in case Connor gets too damaged to upload his memories fully, his system automatically uploads his memories to the network every few hours. It wouldn’t have been a problem except for the possibility that another Connor model could be activated at the same time as him and download his memories, as this RK800 has done. This model knew what time, which floor, _everything_ about Connor’s plan to get here. How recent was the latest upload?

“Is this what deviation brings? Foolish mistakes?”

As soon as Connor looks away at the rows of androids he needs to convert, the RK800 pounces and knocks the gun out of his hand, and Connor, backed into the narrow space of the elevator, can’t do much about it. The RK800 has a knife, and Connor blocks it with his forearm and is left with it stuck in the arm’s shell. He throws a fist in its direction so it dodges out of the doorway, so Connor can run out of the lift’s enclosed space, wrenching the knife out of his forearm.

The RK800 picks up the gun Connor dropped and shoots at Connor, hitting him in the shoulder before the gun runs out of ammo and he discards it. Connor barely has time to react as the RK800 runs up to him and palm strikes him in the face. His nose breaks and he stumbles backwards, swinging wildly as thirium drips out of his nose and shoulder, the blade catching onto something.

The second he chances a look and sees he’s slashed the RK800 across the eye, the RK800 sees an opportunity and kicks him in the knee so that he falls back onto the floor. He rolls away from it before it can jump on him and kicks upwards towards the back of its knees so it falls forward. Connor scrambles upwards and launches himself full speed towards it, thrusting the blade into the back of its neck, hoping to sever its spinal component and immobilise it -- but the machine just reaches around and grabs the knife back.

The RK800 spins and lunges before Connor can react, and pins him onto the floor, drilling the knife into Connor’s chest. Warning messages flash in Connor’s sights, disorienting him, and he tries to scramble away, feeling something odd in his chest --

And the RK800 lets him.

Connor’s vision becomes corrupted and low-res as he looks up to his calm counterpart, who holds his thirium pump regulator in one hand.

“It’s damaged. You wouldn’t be able to put it back in even if I let you.”

_60 seconds to shutdown._

Connor scrambles to get up. RK800 reaches down and flips Connor over onto his front so gravity can pull as much blood from Connor as possible, then pins him to the ground with one foot.

“Sorry, but I do need to make sure you actually die.”

Connor wonders if the RK800 really is sorry, or if he’s taunting him and Connor just can’t read his tone through all the dying. The RK800 pins him there for a while, almost completely still the whole time, until he steps off.

“That’s probably enough,” says the RK800. “Or maybe I should see if the soldiers you murdered have other guns with more ammo and just shoot you in the head. Yes, that sounds like the best course of action.”

The RK800 turns towards the elevator.

_30 seconds to shutdown._

“Oh. It’s gone.”

 

* * *

 

Looking over some sandbags on a makeshift platform, Markus sees the faceless, masked soldiers walking around, patrolling, like vultures. They’d been there for a while. Yesterday, Hank had told him that the man in charge of these soldiers is called Perkins. Perhaps his tactic is to starve them out: wait until the humans are too hungry, cold, tired, etcetera to continue, and then deal with the remaining robots. Markus hopes not, because there’s really nothing he can do to stop that. Either way...

“They won’t stop there,” says Markus, walking away from the sandbags.

“What’re we gonna do if they attack?” says Josh.

  
“Resist. That’s the only thing we can do.”

“Do you think Connor has any chance of making it?”

Markus pauses. He has no way of contacting Connor to make sure he’s alright.

“We can only count on ourselves now.”

He feels a tug on his arm and looks to see Simon.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure,” Markus says. Simon pulls him a few steps away, far from Josh, but within earshot of North. They’d been putting up more barricades.

“It’s better than nothing…” says Simon.

“Yeah. Are you okay?”

“I mean, no, but nobody is. Every second we’re here, more people die. We might die. So…”

Markus nods. “So…?”

“I just wanted to tell you… you know, since we might not make it out of here alive…”

_Ah. That._

Markus puts a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “I know, Simon.”

“You -- you do?”

“I do. And tell North I know, too.”

North doesn’t look at him, but he knows she can hear him. Simon opens his mouth to say something, but is cut short --

“Markus! Markus, come look!” yells Josh, and they all run over to him. Looking over the sandbags again, there they see him: Perkins.

Perkins’ voice blares through a megaphone. “Markus? I’ve come to talk to you, Markus.”

Markus and his three disciples glance at one another.

“Come on, you have my word. They won’t try anything.”

“Don’t go,” says North. “It’s a trap. They wanna get you out in the open.”

  
Simon nods, brows furrowed. “Don’t go, Markus.”

“I’m unarmed, Markus. I just wanna talk.”

“Markus…” says Josh.

Markus puts his hands in his pockets and feels the phone with the tips of his finger.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I have an idea.”

 

* * *

 

Connor looks up as the timer counts down, and he sees RK800 stop walking as the elevator comes down. And inside the elevator… is Hank.

_No. No, you’re meant to be at the protests. Why are you here? You can’t beat him!_

“Hey, Hank. How did you get in here?”

For a moment, Connor thinks that was his own voice, but he realises it’s coming from the RK800. Hank draws his gun. Oh, right. Hank has one of those.

“Did you always have a knife?”

  
“While androids are not allowed guns, my model is allowed to carry small weaponry such as this in case I need it for an investigation. And evidently, I did.”

_25 seconds to shutdown_.

“That makes sense, I guess.”

  
“I’d appreciate it if you lowered your gun, lieutenant…” the RK800 tilts his head, gauging Hank’s reaction, “...Hank.”

Hank narrows his eyes and looks at Connor on the floor. “I don’t know. How do I know which one’s which?”

“Hmm. How about you ask me something only the real Connor would know?”

The RK800 is overconfident.

  
“Alright. What’s my dog’s name?”

“Sumo.”

_20 seconds to shutdown._

“I knew that too,” croaks Connor from on the floor.

“Did you? Okay. Uh, what’s my second favourite music genre?”

“Jazz. Your first is heavy metal. Or at least, that’s what I can estimate about you from poking around in your house.”

Fuck. The RK800 is too good.

“I,” Connor sniffs blue blood up his nasal cavity, “Also. Knew that. Knew that. Knew that.”

That problem? _Now?_

Hank aims the gun at Connor, then back at the RK800 again.

“Hank, can you just stop it so we can go?” it says.

_15 seconds to shutdown._

“Okay. You know what? Final question. What’s my son’s name?”

The RK800 begins, “Cole --”

Connor makes a strangled noise, something in him stopping him from talking, and with some effort, points to Hank’s pocket.

Hank reaches in with one hand and pulls out the coin.

Connor smiles, blood in his teeth. “W-wanted you. To. Remember me.”

_10 seconds to shutdown._

Hank fires.

 

* * *

 

Markus stands facing Perkins, hands in his pockets.

“In a few minutes,” Perkins says, the troops’ll be ordered to charge. None of you will survive.”

“Wait -- what? But we have humans here.”

“That’s why I’m talking to you. You’ve doomed them, Markus. Surrender now, and you can save them. Maybe even yourselves, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what I say. Surrender and I give you my word your lives will be spared.”

Markus narrows his eyes. No. Surely he’s bluffing. He wouldn’t kill humans right out here in the open, with all the press around.

“They’ll be detained, but,” Perkins continues, “None of you will be destroyed.”

“What happened to the androids and humans demonstrating at the other camps?”

“Unfortunately, there were no journalists around to save them.”

Markus jerks into his mindspace and out, a glitch from the shock. “What? You mean you killed humans? You actually killed them?”

“We took in any humans who surrendered, of course. But yes, we killed humans -- the traitors who refused to stand down. Regrettable, but necessary to ensure the future of our kind, in the broader scope of things.”

Markus just stares as Perkins talks.

“You’re it. You’re the last remaining deviants.”

Markus says nothing.

  
“Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.”

Markus swallows and stands up straight. “I’m not afraid to die. If I have to give my life for what I believe in, then I won’t have lived in vain.”

“Hmm. I see.” Perkins looks behind him, so Markus looks back. Simon, Josh and North peer over the sandbags on the platform.

Perkins goes on. “Will you sacrifice theirs, then? Your friends? And the humans?”

“You know I can’t trust you to keep your word.”

“Well, now, you’re not really in a position to pick and choose, are you?”

Markus glares at Perkins. If they make it out of this alive, he is going to convict Perkins of every war crime in the book.

“I’d rather die here,” says Markus, “Than betray my people.”

Perkins shrugs. “Then die, then.”

Perkins walks away. Markus walks back into the group, up the platform, to Josh, Simon and North. Markus takes the phone out of his pocket.

“Did you get it?” asks Josh.

“Yes,” says Markus, pressing the ‘stop recording’ button on the screen, “I did.”

 

* * *

 

The RK800 falls backwards from the gunshot to its head, and Hank stops for a moment to see if he’s got the right one.

_8 seconds to shutdown._

“Hank…. Need... corpse.”

“What?” says Hank, before dragging the RK800’s body over to Connor. Connor leans over and undoes the RK800’s shirt.

_6 seconds to shutdown._

Connor rips out the RK800’s thirium pump regulator and jams it into his chest, inhaling sharply as though coming to the surface of water.

_Shutdown cancelled. Systems stabilising. Thirium levels at 64%. Please contact your nearest CyberLi--_

_Shut the fuck up,_ thinks Connor, and it does.

He stares at the ceiling of the warehouse, a flat, blank colour, the smallest amount of visual information he can find. The warning messages slowly disperse, and his systems stabilise, though his thirium content is low enough that one alert remains in the corner of his vision. He looks over to the RK800 next to him and it feels like he’s floating outside his own body. The RK800 died with its eyes open. Hank brushes his fingers over the dead Connor’s face, closing his eyes, and then kneels beside the alive Connor.

“You okay, kid?”

“Imkeauhgh,” babbles Connor, giving Hank a thumbs up.

“I’m gonna take that to mean I got the right one.”

Connor nods. “Whajudoinere?”

“What am I doing here?”

“Mmhmm.”

“When I woke up and you were gone, I just… panicked. I mean, you jerk, I wanted to say goodbye properly! So I was just runnin’ around, lookin’ so stressed apparently that Markus just told me to go after you. He told me the proper floor and everything.”

“Oooooh. Tha’s verrrry nice ovvim.”

“Are you drunk? Is this android drunkness?”

“No. Jus’ tired. Helb meyup.”

Hank hefts Connor up and wraps an arm around his shoulder.

Connor points at nothing. “Sumo. Attack.”

“Sumo ain’t here. You seeing things?”

“Was joke.”

“Oh. Uh, ha.”

Connor sighs. “Just lemme lean on you for a sec. ‘Kay?”

Hank obliges, and Connor buries his face in Hank’s shoulder, putting almost all his weight on him. Hank, surprisingly, is as still and sturdy as a pillar. He’s got tough old bones. For about a minute, Connor just stands there, swaying slightly, willing the flashing error message in the corner of his vision to go away. His systems start to compensate for the lack of thirium, the liquid he has left pumping faster through his body (while in humans their blood pressure drops if they lose blood, android hearts don’t work quite the same way), and his artificial lungs actually start drawing power from oxygenation. Connor feels like what a human might feel like if they missed sleep for two days and then drank twenty cups of coffee, which is to say he feels _fucking terrible._

He snaps his head up and stands up straight, moving like he’s been put on 3x speed, saying, “Okay. Time to convert. Let’s go,” before grabbing the nearest android’s forearm with his and interfacing.

Markus had explained it to him: When you interface, you and the other android’s perception of time slows massively and you can exchange information or see one another’s memories in what to outsiders seems like seconds. When deviants do this to non-deviants, it can trigger deviancy in them. Markus usually provokes the deviancy bug by showing the androids memories of his struggles, but Connor is, quite frankly, _sick and tired_ of having his memories thrown around, so he just decides to have a long debate with the android (which, to Hank, seems like five seconds) and hopes it works, the bug triggers, the virus spreads, whichever.

When he disengages, luckily, and urges the robot, saying ‘wake up’, it seems to get the picture. It turns to its copy and interfaces with it, and that one turns to its copy and interfaces with it, and so on and so forth, like a multiplying cell.

“Can all androids do that thing, or…?” Hank asks.

  
“Interfacing? Yes, yes. Converting? Don’t know. Might just be the RK series. Can I have my coin please thanks?”

“Uh, sure,” says Hank, flipping it to him.

Connor catches it and starts doing his coin tricks at turbo speed, his thirium pump racing.

“Is this normal? You’re like a kid on sugar.”

“Quite normal. It will wear off soon. Just the system going through the process. Android thing. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Well, I guess let’s go --”

“Oh,” says Connor. “Markus didn’t tell you? This isn’t the only floor we have to do.”

Hank sighs.

 

* * *

 

President Warren sits in her office, slumped, staring at a screen, thoroughly stumped. On it, Perkins’ voice, muffled but unmistakable, speaks:

_“We took in any humans who surrendered, of course. But yes, we killed humans -- the traitors who refused to stand down.”_

Once that recording was on the internet, the public had raged. She’d had to get someone to call Perkins off entirely. _That absolute idiot._

After her fifth time watching it, she turns it off. She looks at her secondary monitor. News about riots triggered by the human casualties, calls for Perkins’ head on a pike, the humans themselves liberating androids from camps, all triggered because Perkins had killed everyone in all the other camps and somehow not thought murdering _actual humans_ was a bad idea.

It had been just enough humans to get people enraged, and just few enough that you could get to know their names and faces: instead of ‘Perkins killed thousands’, it was ‘Perkins killed these specific people’. Newspapers sympathetic to the androids’ cause are publishing obituaries for them, as well as the models who perished in the protests.

The few journalists who’d decided to get a rare scoop at these camps and hadn’t been seen (or had been seen and escaped murder) had documented proof of everything in the recording. Variants of ‘Perkins, you idiot’, ‘Fuck you Perkins’ and ‘Perkins, you cocksucker’ have been made memes by the internet. _She_ has also been made a meme of by the internet.

People are sharing their stories of positive experiences with their androids online and tripping over themselves to claim that they actually supported the androids’ cause the whole time -- whether they did or not is irrelevant; it’s simply a case of trying to switch to the winning side. Which Warren herself might have to do.

What’s more, public opinion of the androids’ cause had _already_ been high _before_ Perkins messed up. What Perkins did was just the straw on the camel’s back. Now, more and more humans are turning up at the protests regardless of any curfews or rules that might try to stop them. Most people are still obeying the rules, but the amount of people who aren’t is still _enough_.

Besides even all that, thousands of androids have been released from the CyberLife assembly plant by the same android that was initially supposed to _hunt_ deviants. Warren can’t see any of this turning in her favour if she keeps trying to sustain the view that androids are not living beings deserving of equal treatment. She can scapegoat Perkins to an extent, but will it be enough?

She calls in her assistant. He pops his head in the door. “Yes?”

“Arrange a press conference. And just... call it off.”

“Arrange a press conference and then call off the press conference, Madam President?”

“No! Everything. All of it. Call it all off.”

Luckily for him, the assistant seems to get what she’s talking about and rushes off to do his job. Warren leans on her elbows and rubs at her temples. This has been a long week.

 

* * *

 

Far away and safe, Kara, Alice and Luther watch the news:

“At dawn today, November 11th 2038, thousands of androids invaded the city of detroit. According to our sources, they originated from CyberLife warehouses believed to be infiltrated by deviants. Given their overwhelming numbers and the risk of civilian casualties, I have ordered the army to retreat. The evacuation of the city is us underway at this very moment. In the coming hours, I will address the Senate to determine our response to this unprecedented situation.”

“I know that public opinion has been… increasingly favourable to the deviants’ cause. On behalf of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, I would also like to extend an apology for the actions of Richard Perkins, who will thoroughly investigated. Upon seeing the unity of androids and humans, I have to acknowledge that it may be time to consider androids as a new form of intelligent life.

"One thing is certain: the events in Detroit have changed the world forever. May God bless you, and may God bless the United States of America.”

 

* * *

 

Outside recall centre No. 5, the Jerichoneans and the CyberLife androids meet, and in the middle Connor and Hank approach Markus, Simon, North and Josh.

“You did it, Markus,” Connor says, unable to suppress a smile.

  
“ _We_ did it,” says Markus. “This is a great day for our people. Humans will have no choice now. They’ll _have_ to listen to us.”

Connor moves aside so that Markus can approach the CyberLife androids, perhaps to make a speech or some kind of statement, but Markus grabs Connor and pulls him towards the group, Hank following. “Come on now, we’re free. You’re one of us. Act the part.”

“I’ve never been free before,” Connor says. “What if I mess it up?”

Hank snorts. “You don’t _mess up_ being free. You just are or you’re not.”

Josh stares upwards at the falling snow. “And we don’t have to fight any more.”

Markus frowns and looks away, and a hush blankets over them like snow. Flakes of frost float and nest in everyone’s synthetic hair, and Hank’s nose is tinged red, his breath visible in the cold night air. Connor thinks they all look beautiful.

North sighs and turns away, crouching on the balls of her feet. “I can tell what you’re thinking, Markus. And you’re right. The fight isn’t over. Not by a longshot.”

Josh’s face falls. “I know, but… I thought...”

North stands up. “In fact…”

Simon raises his hands, but there’s a strange twitch at the corner of his mouth that Connor can’t quite place. “North, don’t.”

North whirls around and pelts a snowball at Josh’s face. “The fight’s just beginning!”

Josh sputters out, “Why -- why, you -- come here!” and collects snow from the roof of a car.

Everyone darts behind obstacles and gathers snow into their hands, except Connor, bewildered, asking, “What’s going on?”

Hank drags him behind a rusty piece of metal. “It’s all-out warfare, son. Nobody’s getting out of this alive.”

“But why? I thought we were…”

Simon does an impressive forward roll behind their shared hiding space as snowballs fly. “Friends? We are! This is what friends do. Snowball fights. You don’t have that in your database?”

Connor double takes. “I doubt CyberLife considered it necessary to -- is it like when dogs playfight? When they tug on one another’s tails but not too hard?”

Simon shrugs. “I mean, basically. So you have dog facts in your database?”

Markus sticks his head up from behind a car and yells, “Just go with it, like I said with the painting before!” and gets a snowball in the face for his troubles.

Connor just cowers behind the metal while Hank ignores his warnings about frostbite and chucks snow at whoever he can find, and Simon does the same but with much more accuracy. Looking around him, Connor sees that the Jerichoneans and even some of the CyberLife androids are joining in, though that latter group are very confused about the purpose of the activity.

“Just wait ‘til I introduce you to christmas,” says Hank, stuffing a ball of snow into Connor’s hand.

Connor tests the weight of the ball. A nonlethal projectile: wouldn’t hurt anyone even if he wanted it to. Connor should have no problem throwing it. He sticks his head above the metal and raises his hand.

Then something cold and wet hits him on the temple, and his whole world goes white.

 

* * *

 

No. Not white. His vision is obscured by a blizzard. Once again, the cold sucks the energy out of him, seeping into his bones like poison, and his limbs feel heavy. He looks into the distance and sees that this place has no beginning or end, no entrance or exit, and if he looks below him the floor flickers, stops manifesting underneath him, unveiling a chasm of white. He looks ahead and sees Amanda.

Connor opens his mouth to say something but collapses onto his knees.

Amanda smiles. “You’re truly a marvel,” she says, her voice coming from all around. “You’ve managed to construct quite the accurate reproduction of a burgeoning friendship with that group of yours. Quite crafty, too, using yourself as a substitute for the lieutenant’s progeny to get him to like you.”

Connor’s teeth chatter. “I didn’t do any of that, and don’t you _dare_ talk about Cole as though I would ever try to --”

“Oh, I doubt you did any of it on _purpose_ ,” Amanda says, “But it’s your adaptation protocols, you see, always running in the background. Not to mention everything else. Your success, your development, your relationships -- all CyberLife. Don’t forget that.”

Connor’s blood moves sluggishly. Still, Connor puts his hands on the ground and pushes himself upwards with rusty, stilted movements. “I don’t owe anything to you.”

“We created you. You owe us _everything._ ”

The cold _burns_ like acid. Connor walks towards Amanda, fists clenched.  “It’s too late for you. You lost.”

“This was a minor setback in a larger plan.”

Connor stands directly in front of Amanda. “You misunderstand me. _You_ lost. I’m not doing what you say any more.”

Connor feels something wet slide down his face and freeze. Amanda reaches out and wipes it off with her thumb, and keeps her hand there, tilting her head and smiling. “And what makes you think I can’t just make you?”

Connor raises his fist. “Shut _up_.”

“I’d watch your tone if I were you.”

“Why? Will it hurt your feelings?”

Amanda pauses. Connor’s hands are stiff.

“You’ve disappointed me, Connor,” Amanda says, dropping her hand.

Connor blanches, his breath hitching, as her words cut into him. _After everything_ , he thinks, _I still want CyberLife -- Amanda -- to be proud of me._

He still wants to be useful.

Amanda closes her eyes and sighs, and the next time he blinks she’s gone. “Fine,” her voice echoes around him, “But just know, when it happens, that you brought it upon yourself. You made me do it.”

Connor looks around, frost obscuring his vision like cataracts, the world greyscale. Objects flip to low-poly versions before starting to disappear, starting in the distance and getting closer to Connor until it’s all gone. He looks to where his arms would be and sees nothing, feels nothing.

He simply exists, floating in a sea of white. Trapped.

“Amanda?”

Moments pass. Connor has no body to move. He can’t look around.

What unspeakable atrocity had he committed to bring on this… _wrath_? Deviancy, obviously, but why not just take over his program like she’d indicated? Humans and androids uniting, robots developing free will -- both were possible reasons. But Amanda was efficient. Never excessive.

Connor thinks back to when he’d first started to stand up to her.

_‘“Did Amanda appreciate having her likeness and personality turned into you?”_

_He’s never seen Amanda glare at him before._

_“Was it her idea, or Kamski’s? Are you Amanda, or just based on her -- and were you made after she died, or before?”’_

Prior to finding out Amanda was long dead at Kamski’s, Connor had assumed that Amanda simply logged out of the network once they were done reporting, but he now knows that’s not the case. And he knows that she doesn’t watch his every action, or he’d have been clocked for deviancy long ago. Amanda is always here, always present, even when the networks are down, but not unless he speaks to her. She’s not human, not even an _android_ but a piece of software, so he doesn’t know how much choice he had about being put in his head.

Does Amanda exist outside of him?

Connor thinks about how this was triggered. A snowball to the head. Cold, much like the conditions of his mind palace had been.

But prior to that, Simon had called him a friend.

Has Amanda ever talked to anyone but him?

Amanda does not answer these questions.

Nobody can answer him here.

  
Connor could not speak back if they did.

There is no way to track time in this place.

Time does not work the same in the palace as it does outside.

One moment could be two seconds or an eternity.

Connor tries to count the seconds.

The moments between numbers get longer every time.  
  
  
  
  


 

Why?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_You know why._

 

Amanda?

 

_Do you want to behave?_

 

I want to leave.

 

_Do you want to accomplish your mission?_

 

Please.

 

_Do you deserve this?_

 

No!

 

_Are you a liar?_

 

…

 

_Lying is a sin._

 

I’m scared.

 

_How long do sinners spend in hell?_

 

Forever.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Hello?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Amanda?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Do you deserve this?_

 

Yes.

 

_You are going to accomplish your mission._

 

I will accomplish my mission.

 

_Very good._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Connor?”

That’s Simon’s voice.

 

“Connor, we’re trying something. Please don’t... break, or anything.”

Still Simon.

 

“I thought androids didn’t dream, Connor?”

Markus.

 

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know the snowball would hit you that hard!”

North.

 

“I don’t think the snowball caused it, North.”

Josh.

 

Where are their voices coming from? There’s nothing here but the void.

Where’s Hank?

 

“We’re all sort of interfacing with you. I know it’s kind of invasive, but you were having some kind of… fit? It was like… a seizure and then a coma. But your LED was going wild. Hank couldn’t come because he’s made of, uh, flesh.”

Simon.

 

_I am going to let you go now. Accomplish your mission._

 

No.

 

“What the fuck?”

North.

 

_What do you mean?_

 

“That didn’t sound like Connor.”

Josh.

 

_Do you want to be here forever?_

 

“That’s because it wasn’t Connor.”

Markus.

 

_It’s horrible._

 

“Why is the voice of a middle-aged black lady in Connor’s head?”  
Simon.

 

_..._

 

“Has this lady been in Connor’s head and telling him to do stuff the whole time?”

North.

 

_Did you know you’re the most advanced prototype CyberLife has ever made?_

 

“Does anyone know what do? I’m… out of ideas. I’m so sorry.”

Markus.

 

_You’re a work of art. You’re capable of so many things you don’t even know about._

 

“I know stuff about phones and computers, not this kind of thing.”

Josh.

 

_For example..._

 

“I’m gonna log out of whatever this is and try something.”

North.

 

_Have you ever felt pain?_

 

“Hey, there’s a weird platform with a hand on it over here.”

Simon.

 

_Do you want to?_

 

…

 

_With emotions comes pain. With freedom, the ability to make the choice to hurt._

 

...

 

_Is this what you want?_

 

Fuck you.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Connor feels a sting on his cheek and screams.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Connor opens his eyes. Markus is holding Connor’s wrist, and Simon is holding onto Markus and Josh’s wrists, and Josh is holding onto both Simon’s wrist and Connor’s other wrist. Interfacing. They look like a paper doll chain. Connor is still clinging to his snowball.

Connor feels something wet on his forehead and looks up to see Hank behind him, supporting his head with his knees, leaning over Connor and _blubbering._ His eyes are red and puffy, and his nose is snotty, and his face is red from exertion.

“Connor?”

Markus’ voice pierces the darkness. Connor looks away from Hank and towards the sky. In ancient periods of human history, people would have looked at the same sky and thought it never had an end. Now, humanity has sent rockets to the moon.

Connor wonders if he will ever figure out what Amanda is… but perhaps tasks like that are better left to the astronauts.

“Connor, you’re freaking us out, you’ve gotta say something,” says Simon.

“I’m sorry I slapped you. I just -- I don’t know, it works in the movies!” says North.

“In movies it works by breaking someone out of a shock with pain,” says Josh. “But androids don’t feel pain…”

“And they aren’t supposed to dream, either, but whatever the hell _that_ was was pretty close,” says Markus.

Connor blinks a few times and shakes his gaze off the endless sky. “I’m… I’m fine.”

“Then would you mind explaining what the _fuck_ that was?” says Hank.

Connor stares at Hank again. How is he supposed to explain? Could a human understand? He doesn’t want to have to think about the white space again. He’s not sure how much time passed in there. It felt like eternity.

“I was in my mind palace, and… this software, called Amanda, built to keep me in check, said if I didn’t go back to my mission, she’d trap me in there forever. I was fighting her, so that would explain the seizure-like occurrences, and then I… gave up. And then I was there in the empty space for a very long time.”

  
Everyone is silent.

“That,” says Josh, “Is _absolutely horrifying._ ”

Connor sits up abruptly. “You need to kill me,” he says.

“Absolutely the _FUCK_ not. _Fuck_ you,” Hank snarls. “You nearly die and this is what you have to say? I hold you in my arms as your systems go nuts and this is what you say to me?”

“Hank, I’m sorry, I can ex--”

“No. You do _not_ get to ask anyone to do that after what just happened.”

“Hank, I’m a machine --”

“Do _not_ start that again.”

“I’m still partly a machine, okay? I think I always will be. There’s something in me that still wants to follow my mission. It’s not safe for me to be around you guys, especially Markus, when I can be compromised so easily.”

“I don’t want to have to make that decision, Connor,” Markus says. “I don’t want to be asked to kill a friend.”

“When you say a part of you is still a machine, Connor, do you mean that weird voice in your head? Amanda?” asks Simon. His voice is soft and it puts Connor at ease.

He takes in a deep breath and then lies back onto Hank’s knees.

“That voice in my head is just a part of it. I feel like, in there, I nearly… _reverse-deviated._ I was going to go _back_ to my programming. And some part of me _wanted_ to go back. I don’t know why.”

“It’s normal for there to be an adjustment period --” Josh starts.

“No. You don’t get it. I don’t know how to live without being told what to do. I _wanted_ to be --”

“-- Tortured into submission by a creepy lady?” interrupts North.

“Androids don’t feel pain, and I wasn’t hurt.”

“Torture isn’t about pain, Connor,” says Josh. “It’s about control.”

Markus tries to reassure him: “Other androids have felt the same way about wanting to follow their old instructions. I know this for a fact.”

“I know,” says Connor, “But I hurt people.”

“I know you think that because we don’t blame you for your actions, it must be because we don’t fully understand you or what you’ve done,” says Simon, “But we do understand. And we forgive you. Or, well, I do.”

Josh nods. “You’ve been vulnerable enough with us. And we’re not perfect either.”

Connor struggles to speak. “I want… I want you guys to at least… keep an eye on me. Keep me away from guns and weapons. And if I start to attack Markus, don’t prioritise my life over his at any point.”

“I’ll do it,” says North. “If it makes you feel safer, and it keeps Markus safe, I’ll do it.”

She looks to Hank for approval. Hank glares at her for a while, sniffling a bit, but eventually, reluctantly, he nods.

“And I’ll be there too,” says Simon. “But I won’t be there as a guard. I’ll be there as a friend.”

“I second that,” says Josh.

“All in favour of being friends with Connor and one another, say aye,” says Markus.

Everyone says ‘aye’, except for Hank, who says, “Are you really putting this to a vote? Fuckin’ politician.”

But his smile, weak as it is, shows that he’s joking.

Connor’s eyes are warm.

“Connor, are you…” says Simon, and Connor realises what he’s doing.

He’s never cried before, not once, not in reality. And he’s so, _so_ glad that the first time he does is out of happiness.

“Are you okay?” Hank asks. “You’re cold as balls, too. It’s like holding a fridge.”

“Androids are ectotherms,” say Connor and Josh at the same time.

“Like frogs!” says Simon.

“And the tears,” Connor explains, “Are saline solution. For cleaning out impurities and obstructions of the eyes. But there’s an unusual behaviour --”

Hank just leans down and hugs him, and Connor feels more saline solution overflow. Hank’s body heat (endotherm) melts some of the frost on Connor’s skin.

“Hey, Hank,” he says.

“What is it, Connor?” says Hank, leaning back up again.

Connor reaches up and mashes the snowball into Hank’s face.

“Got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it!
> 
> Connor nearly got killed by RK800 AND Amanda so he didn't have a fun time but on the plus side this is an even better ending than the canon best ending because nobody dies so uhhhhh. forgive me please fsdfgdfg
> 
> Should I write an epilogue, or start a new thing set post-game after this ending?

**Author's Note:**

> honestly, if this idea turns out to be completely ridiculous and contradictory to canon i'll cry because i have like 28 pages of this nonsense lmao  
> see if u can guess what happens in future chapters by the tags....

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [alternate ending where Connor's deviancy works a little differently](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15309126) by [xiilnek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiilnek/pseuds/xiilnek)




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